Last To Know (Are The Only Ones Who Matter)
by fallingangelsandstars
Summary: Sam's broken, and giving into the darkness. Dean doesn't understand. And then he does.
1. Do You See Me?

**A/N: Trigger Warning for suicide and depression. Don't read if it'll cause a relapse. My writing is not worth that. **

* * *

_The sunlight is streaming in through the window. I feel the sudden revulsion as I look in the mirror and I fight off the urge to break the damn thing to thousand tiny pieces. I don't want to look, and I feel the depression reaching for me, clawing at my being. The black pit is looming closer, and I can feel the grey haze consume my mind, and every thought is lined with negative, black, jagged streaks. Every memory is distorted, and I feel myself falling, unable to reach the sunlight, instead overwhelmed by darkness. The sun stopped shining a long while ago._

_I look in the mirror, and I hate who I see. I see the gaunt, hollow face, the sharp, high cheekbones, the sunken eyes, dulled from a warm hazel to a monotonous green. My hair is lank and greasy, cut unevenly and too long. I shiver. Everything is cold. I see the marks of scars made long ago, and my thoughts turn down a darker, more dangerous path. I turn my head, no longer able to cope with every little fault that I see. I close my eyes, silently praying that the darkness will leave before it takes me, before I make the choice I cannot save myself from. But then, the voice in my mind mocks me; I am worth nothing. I know that. I know there's nothing left to save._

_It takes a superhuman effort to leave my bedroom. Walking into the hallway, my head cast down, I do my best to avoid any searching glances or enquiring questions. He cannot know about the darkness. I cannot hurt him like that, cannot let the darkness touch the only bright spot, the one important thing in my life. I am weary, and my limbs weigh more than I ever thought was possible. Every movement saps what little energy I could muster, and I know I will not last the day without crying. My body aches to get back into bed and just break. To just let go. Every part of me hurts, and I feel the cold, violent, stabbing pain like a knife through my head. All I wish for is to make the pain stop. My hands are shaking, and I grab onto the closest thing to me, needing something to anchor me. I am losing myself. I don't know who I am anymore._

* * *

I feel his hands on my shoulders. His long, thin, slender fingers wrap themselves on my shoulders, and he gazes at me blankly. Sam doesn't see me. Doesn't know it's me. The thought makes bile rise in my throat and I look away before he can the tears that are welling up in my eyes. He's hurting. I know that. I've known that for so long. And it's hurting me too. Because I feel so helpless. There is nothing I can do.

* * *

_I've seen the therapist. He gave me these small white pills. Antidepressants. But he didn't give them to me directly, no doubt worried about me attempting to off myself. The joke's on him, though. He gave them to Dean and I saw his shoulders sagging in defeat and the burden I've become. And I can see that the darkness inside me is touching him, corrupting him, tainting him, and his light is flickering. I can't hurt him. I can't make him go through this anymore. _

_I can't feel any emotion. I'm just so tired. Everything still hurts. Why won't the pain go away?_

* * *

I'm holding the bottle in my hand. I hope that these work. I just want to see him happy again. Wasn't that the point? Make sure Sam was happy. Make sure he was safe.

I can't stop myself from clenching my fists. I'm scared that I'm losing him. I wish I was enough to bring him back. But I can't do this alone.

Shame washes over me. My inadequacy makes me sick to my stomach, and it's all I can do not to break down. But I need to be strong. If only to keep him with me.

* * *

_I feel nauseated, in every part of me, and my throat feels dry. The blood in my head is pounding and my hands shake. I know it's the side-effects of the pills but I can't find the energy to care._

_The voices aren't stopping and neither does Dean's desperate, almost pleading gaze. I hate the moment when he gives me the medication. Hate that small nudge on my shoulder and his voice trembling._

_ "__Sammy. Are you-", and when his voice cuts off and cracks, and it's like another small cut, another failure._

_I hate the fear I see. As if he's afraid of saying something that might break me. I can't find the courage to say that I'm already broken .Or rather, shattered._

* * *

The antidepressants aren't working. I'm so scared of losing him. I walk through the house, trying to find him. I see the spots of red, and my vision blurs through the tears. I know what the spots of red are. I touch them, in a daze, and they smear across the wall. The sight of his blood leaves me shaking, and empty inside. I follow the trail, breaking into a run. The adrenaline pounds through my body. Sam's in the bathroom. The fear is overwhelming, and I open the door, terrified of what I will find.

* * *

_I feel the warmth of the water running over my legs, soaking into my clothes. The cuts are bleeding, but I welcome the sharp sting. I can feel something again. The light is coming. I can almost reach it. But it's out of my grasp. I can't get to it. It's eluding me, and I'm so angry at being so weak, so pathetic. _

_But I guess it would fit the story of my life. Sam Winchester. Never been strong enough. Never done anything right. I want to do this one thing right. I want to be strong enough get rid of myself, to stop hurting everyone around me, and I'd be damned if I let myself fail. I lift the knife again, and gasp when it slips out of my blood-soaked fingers, dropping into the water with a splash, tainting it a darker red. I reach for it again, but a warm hand grabs my fingers, and the desperation that overwhelms me makes me slip as I struggle to grab it once more. I hit my head against the cold marble, and the omnipresent darkness draws me in once more._

_'__I'm so sorry', was my last, fleeting thought._

* * *

**Secondary A/N: Special thanks to precious-passenger for the beta and the general hand-holding and encouragement. She's amazing. **

**Reviews are like bits of heaven. Please review. Should I write another chapter?**

**Also open to any requests for pieces you guys want written.**


	2. I Don't See Myself

**A/N: Enjoy!**

* * *

I feel numb. The paramedics have their hands on Sam, and I can't do anything except kneel there. I'm whispering something along the line of _it's okay, no, _and _Sammy. _I wish everything would blur, and I want to black out. I don't want to remember this.

Even when I close my eyes, all I see is Sam.

Lying in a pool of blood.

* * *

_My eyes are closed. I don't want to open them. Don't want to open them to the sterilised white walls and disappointing looks. To the silent judgement from the doctors and the wary gazes of the nurses. _

_I don't want to open them and see Dean._

_I've watched him over the years. Watched him as the laughter lines around his eyes changed to lines of stress and worry and fear. And I've seen him as his smiles faded and became grim lines of anger, his heart and soul hardening. I don't want to see that again._

_I don't want to see the way he looks at me._

_I know I'm a freak. I watched him take the only present I've ever given him, and throw it out. Even as I knew begging wouldn't work, I wanted to. I wanted to ask him not to. I didn't know what to do. _

_I've never known what to do. Every choice I've made has been the wrong one._

_And now Dean can see it too. _

* * *

It feels like everything done wrong, every mistake, has bundled itself up into one big pile, and it's lying on the bed in front of me. I can't do this. I've seen him in a hospital bed before. But never because he put himself there.

His wrists are bandaged, and the blood is still seeping, slowly. They'll change the bandages in a couple of hours.

Sam looks tired. His eyelids are almost translucent, and the skin beneath his eyes is purple and bruised. His chest is rising and falling slowly.

"Damn it, Sammy." It hurts to talk. My throat is raw, voice hoarse from not being used.

The nurses ask me how long I've been sitting here. I say I don't know.

They say three days. But I'm not sure of that. I'm not sure of anything.

I can feel the tears. They're slow, and each drop falls onto the starched white sheets. Useless, as everything else is. I can't stop them, though.

He's too pale, and his hands are still cold.

A bird flies past the window, and a cool rush of air blows in. It should be refreshing. It feels lifeless.

The sun's setting.

* * *

_Dean's standing at the window. He's staring at something I can't see. _

_My eyes flicker over to the clock. It's 6 something, I think. Might be 8. I can't tell. _

_Dean's turning around, and my heart leaps into my throat. I'm so utterly scared of what I'm going to see. _

_I didn't expect relief. _

_But his face lights up. His eyes are shining, and he looks as if someone just lifted a great weight off his shoulders._

_"__Sam."_

_And I see the tear tracks. And how his hands are shaking, and how he almost collapses into the chair beside my bed._

_The light's too bright. My eyes hurt. My wrists are aching, and I strain against the straps holding me to the bed._

_Suicide risk. Forgot about that. _

_"__Dean. Get these off me."_

_His face falls._

_"I can't, Sammy. You know I can't."_

_Suddenly, all I want to do is sleep. A quick glance at Dean tells me that's probably all he wants too._

_"__You should sleep, Dean. You don't look so good."_

_He laughs, a dry, humourless laugh. _

_"__I look better than you do, you know." There's no life to his voice. _

_I'm sorry, I want to say. I wish I could say I didn't mean it. I wish I could say that it was a mistake. _

_How can I?_

_"__I know," I whisper, and only the almost imperceptible tightening of his shoulders tells me that he heard me._

* * *

Every bone in my body aches to run, to fly, to leave. But Sam's worth more than that. So I stay. And I see Sam's tears.

* * *

_I try to hold them in. After everything Dean saw, he doesn't need to see me cry._

_I don't want him to see me cry._

_"__Get out, Dean."_

_"__No, Sam."_

* * *

The days come and go.

The sun rises and sets.

After two weeks, they let Sam go. But he's not talking.

We find the first motel room, lay the salt lines. I'm cleaning the weapons. I need something to keep my hands occupied.

It's only when Sam falls asleep that the silence is broken.

"Why won't you tell me what's going on, Sam?"

* * *

The Impala shines in the sunlight.

Sam's sitting on the hood. He has a bottle in his hand.

I'm nervous. I don't want to do this. I would rather put this behind us. But I can't pretend it never happened.

The lines on Sam's face seem to be permanently creased.

"You okay?" The question is hesitant, barely there.

"Does it look like I'm okay, Dean?" There's a note of contempt that echoes through the air.

"I don't know what to do here." The words taste like fear and spoiled pride and overwhelmingly of uncertainty.

"Okay, Dean. You don't know what to do." His voice is shaking, and an edge of hysteria bleeds in. "_You _don't know what to do."

"Yeah, Sam. I don't know what to do," I say, and I know how tired I sound.

He inhales sharply, broken glass and cutting edges. "Okay. Let me go. I'll call you when I'm ready to come back."

"Sam-"

"Just trust me, Dean." His eyes flash angrily, and in that moment he's as solid as rock.

And with a flightiness that defies physics, he's gone.

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**Secondary A/N: Sorry if this wasn't up to your expectations. Give me suggestions on how to fix it, if need be, and how to continue it, if you guys want :D**

**Reviews are always welcome! **


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